Darkness Falls Quiet
by forginsberg
Summary: Christine and her Angel find love in a dark world. Chapters 6 & 7 under construction, chapter 5 rewritten.
1. Track Down This Murderer

_From the author: This is my first fan-fiction in a long time. I have had a deep passion for The Phantom of the Opera since I was 8 years old and first saw it performed at the Fox in Atlanta._

_At any rate, necessary precautions must be adhered to. I do not own any of these characters. __Of course, this is all just for fun. Rights go to Monsieur Gaston Leroux above all, and secondly, Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber._

_Please do enjoy._

_The characters in this story are based on my interpretation of a culmination of each Leroux, Webber and Kay's portrayal. _

_We must also remember not to judge Erik too harshly. It cannot be said what lengths any one of us would go to for love._

_I appreciate reviews but they are, of course, at your own discretion._

_Whether constructive or critical, I accept all with an open mind and will consider any changes to details I have overlooked._

_Yours, dutifully._

_A._

**Chapter One**

"They can't find you now."

She stared at him silently, her chin trembling, her eyes spent of tears. He watched her with something close to remorse in his eyes, and then turned suddenly and left the room, closing the door with a snap. She threw herself face down across the bed and moaned into the sheets. She feared she would never see the light of day again, that he would keep her here until she died of grief. She never believed Raoul could fail. And though she could not bear to admit it, she had never believed that her Angel would take her against her will. Despite proof of his rage, the terror he wrought, she had held fast to the conviction that his love for her would, in the end, triumph over his selfish desires.

But she was wrong. Raoul was lost, perhaps forever, in the catacombs of Erik's lair. Though she knew he would never give up until he found her, she knew nothing of the deadly traps that had been implemented to dispose of intruders. She could only hope he would be wise and return to the surface while he still had time, perhaps alert the police, form a more able search party. She could still hear the chants above them of a violent mob who had no hope of locating her in this labyrinth.

She wept dryly, bitterly. This had once been her most secret and dearest dream, but now it was a living nightmare she could never escape. The man she used to love so desperately was now only her jailer and she felt that she would rather die this moment than be trapped here with him.

Through her miserable conscious, a haunting sound found her and wrapped around her slowly like a tender embrace. She rose slowly from her bed, walking to the door and pressing her cheek against it. His score filled her, its mournful regret, its beautiful sadness. She fought the urge to run to him, the manipulation he had so often cast over her before. Stepping back, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stop its trembling and pressed a shaking hand over her broken heart. The music made her eyes heavy and she slowly sat herself back down on the plush comforter of the bed he had provided for her. For tonight, she knew she must accept this as home. Until she was rescued, her life was here, with no hope of escape. Her body was exhausted and he had seen to it that she would be safe from the horrors of the world, if not from the horrors of _his_ world. As he played, she fell deeper into the lulling sense of security this chamber provided. She knew that tonight all she could do was sleep, and somehow, despite her racing brain and pounding heart, she slipped into a world of soft, undisturbed dreams.

_This is more of an introduction. I just want to establish Christine's point of view. This excerpt, of course, takes place after their final trip together into Erik's lair. It is assuming that Raoul did not find them, that Erik successfully evaded capture._

_A much longer chapter follows soon.  
_


	2. In Sleep He Sang To Me

Erik let her sleep. Silence resounded across the still lake as he sat at his desk, a single candle burning. His desk was littered with bits of paper, scores of music, scribbled thoughts. His insomnia was usually peaceful, time he'd use to his advantage, an extra few hours in his day. But tonight his head was filled with violent things, passionate emotions he couldn't seem to get a handle on. He was much too aware of her presence in the next room. More than anything he felt a burning love coursing through his veins, something greater than himself, something that was infuriatingly out of his control.

He swept his hand suddenly across his desk in a fit of temper, sending all but the candle cascading to the floor. Cursing, he stood and swept from the room, walking silently to her bed-chamber and slipping inside.

He stood in the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She resembled a child in slumber, her face calm and her eyelashes casting shadows down her cheeks. He felt a tug in his heart that almost made him gasp aloud with longing to reach out and touch her.

Curling his hands into fists at his side, he sank quickly back into the shadows as she shifted in her sleep, but she merely rolled onto her side and did not wake.

He stayed by her side late into the night, longing to be a source of comfort rather than fear; longing so to lay next to her, to feel her in his arms.

When these thoughts drifted into his idle mind he would will them immediantly away. He could not afford to lose his head. Feasting his eyes on her innocent beauty while she slept was a luxury, one he would allow himself for tonight, merely because he could not have dragged himself from the room if the fate of his immortal soul had rested on it.

He knew that in order to possess her entirely, he must first make her spirit his. Whether her body would follow was really out of his hands, a choice he had no power to make. While he might keep her against her will, he would never take her. His passion ran far deeper than his lust, and she was more sacred than any god to him.


	3. Rather Past Noon

_From the author: I apologize for the brief chapters that have come before. I've been rushed recently, and what with my sudden urge to take on this new project, things have been quite an act of juggling._

_At any rate, this chapter is much longer, and I do hope it will be to your liking._

_Also, if anyone can assist me with a minor detail? I have for the time put "organ" in place of Erik's instrument of choice although I cannot be sure it is the one he used._

_If anyone does know, I would be thankful for the information.I am not sure if it was ever mentioned in text or on film, and one can't always be bothered with such small issues when the words pour onto the page as they have been tonight._

_I'm sure you understand._

_Dutifully yours._

Morning fell without brightening the dark world. When Christine awoke, the candles at her bedside had burned down and her heart was seized in terror as the shadows engulfed her like a continuation of the nightmare she had so recently been immersed in. As the events of the previous evening washed over her, each more shattering than the last, she lay beneath the sheets as still as a corpse.

Slowly, recovering, she strugged to sit up and threw the blankets aside as she sat at the edge of the bed. She had no means of telling how long she had slept, what time it was, even what day it was. She was trapped, body and mind, in this labyrinth.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stood and felt towards the footboard for the robe that had been left out for her, assuming she chose to venture from the bedroom. She felt the need to act, though she did not know what she could possibly say to her captor. She wanted to make him see reason, manipulate any genuine affection he had for her in the deep recesses of his twisted black heart and secure her freedom.

Jaw set, she made her way blindly to the door and flung it open.

Her eyes swept the room and did not find him. The flames of hundreds of candles danced an eerie waltz over the stone walls and still, black waters. She did not believe he had left her alone, knew too much from his previous actions to be certain he did not trust her left to her own devices. All there was to do was to wait.

She made her way around the strange room. Parchment littered the floors and every surface, each covered with mad scrawl she couldn't begin to make out. Standing over his desk and shuffling papers, she came across several very familiar-looking sketches. Her lips slightly parted in amazement, she flipped through sheet after sheet, pictures of her from every angle possible, the likeness unbelievable.

There was a chill in her lungs as she swept the papers aside, turning away sharply and gritting her teeth against the surge of something hot and pleading in her stomach. Stepping softly, she came flush with his organ, gazing reverently at the keys lined out before her, each attached to a chord in her heart, each could take power of her with a single note.

"You're awake."

Her reverie was jolted by a cold voice. She froze, her breath caught in her ribs. He came up behind her silently, so that his next words were at her ear, close enough that she could feel them against her neck but still he maintained a cruel sort of distance.

"I can only tell you once the rules of my home and after this single act of mercy I will punish you for each and every transgression. Please do not invade my privacy, and I will respect you as a guest and grant you yours. I do not want to be at war within these walls, Christine. I want to care for you, and teach you. Allow me to be your friend."

Christine turned so that her chest nearly touched his and she stared into his dark, glinting eyes beseechingly.

"You would not keep a friend here, surely? You would force me to remain here under the guise of nurture," she said quietly, not breaking her eyes from his. For a moment she saw something else in his eyes, just a fleeting second of pain, perhaps, or shame, before he clenched his teeth together and stepped away from her.

"I can prepare a lunch, if you're hungry. It's rather past noon," he said calmly, his voice like steel. Her appetite had left her, with no sign of returning. She merely shook her head.

"I would require an hour or so of your time, when you see fit. You may retire in your room until then."

She stared up into his face a moment longer before finally flinching beneath his hollow gaze. Without another word she left him and went quickly to her bed chamber, shutting the door and leaning against it, her cheek pressed to the wood, her breathing sharp. She closed her eyes but could not will away the image of his hard jawline, the vein jumping beneath his earlobe. She pressed a hand over her heart and stumbled to the bed, removing her robe and climbing again between the sheets, tumbling head over feet into an exhausted, fretful oblivion.


	4. Discord

_From the author: I have finally had time to sit down and write a substantial chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am trying here to really establish the relationship between Erik and Christine, which I believe is somehow often ignored or at least left in the shadows of doubt and uncertainty._

_On another note, I appreciated the help of Katherine Silverhair in answering my question._

_Dutifully yours._

When again she awoke, she felt a sense of calm she had not known earlier. Her heart beat a steady rhythm, her breathing came deep and easy. Raising herself up into a sitting position, she let her eyes survey the room which had been again lighted by many burning candles. The thought that he had visited as she slept sent a shiver through her. It was a purposeful action, hidden beneath the cover of the common kindness of making sure her room was well-lit when she awoke. He was reminding her in the smallest ways that she was in his possession, that she had not the power to deny him entry, nor to leave his watchful gaze. Wrapping her arms rather tightly around herself, she stood and walked to the wardrobe, which was slightly ajar.

Pulling the doors open, she gasped at what lay within. Elaborate clothing lined the dresser, gowns made soley for the stage, each handcrafted with exquisite detail. She ran her hand over them, the feel of the expensive, luxurious fabric against her fingertips an amazing pleasure for an orphan and dancing girl who had only ever been allowed to watch the divas of the stage don these beautiful dresses and debut gloriously.

Parting each item, she came to the back, her hands trembling as she grasped the only of these costumes and finery she had ever worn; the very same she had made her own debut in. She felt a strong surge of triumph as she brushed her hands along the skirt, remembering the enthralling feel of captivating an entire house with only her voice.

She bit her plump bottom lip as she recalled the praise she had recieved from Erik after that performance. It made her heart ache to remember how his eyes had regarded her then; certainly proud and also, perhaps, loving?

But now they were cold, almost dead. She closed the wardrobe without removing anything and again pulled her dressing robe over the nightgown she had accepted only after experiencing several hours of discomfort attempting to sleep in the bulky dress she had been wearing when he took her from the world above.

A soft, tinkling music met her ears as she opened the door and stepped into the expansive room of his main study. He sat with his back to her, his long, skeletal fingers fluttering lightly over the keys of the great organ, though she was not senseless enough to believe he was not fully aware of her presence. As she drew closer, trying to hear better the tune he played, the sound grew softer until she stood just behind him and his hands stilled.

"Would you care for some tea, Christine?" He said her name like a whisper. Her throat was dry but she did not dare take what he offered. He stood slowly, never once glancing at her, and moved to a straight-backed arm-chair that directly faced a dainty couch. Finally he looked at her, his eyes almost weary, his hands crossed in his lap.

"I would appreciate it if you would answer me when I speak to you," he continued, almost gently, gesturing to the seat across from him. She stood where she was, searching his face with her eyes. He allowed this for a few seconds and then sat a little straighter and spoke again.

"I have been quite patient and allowed you all the isolation you desire. I only request a small fraction of your time. Please do not keep me waiting any longer." His tone was now stern and she walked slowly to the couch, perching herself on the edge and fixing her eyes on one of the candles burning on the table between them.

"I am sorry it has come to this. I never wanted to keep you here against your will. I always hoped that you would see reason and come to me on your own. You may not believe me now but I do care for you, very much so, and I only want what is best for you."

"You cannot possibly think that keeping me as your prisoner is good for me!" she interjected, a note of pleading in her voice, and she saw the vein beneath his ear twich again.

"Please do not interrupt me when I'm speaking." Her breath caught in her chest. While he phrased each order as a perfectly courteous request, there was steel in his tone, a reverberating chord of carefully checked temper.

"As I was saying," he continued after a moment's silence, "I believe that you will be very happy here, in time. It is my wish that, if not now then at least at some point in the future, you may come to regard this as your home. Within these walls, I can help you achieve your greatest dreams." She could hear only the sound of her breathing as he paused, watching her.

"I must warn you, however, that if you try to defy me, this place can also become much more of a prison than you imagine it is now. For the present time, I am regarding you as a guest. It is entirely within your power whether that treatment continues." Again he paused, letting his words sink into her skin.

"Now, I have only two requests to make of you. They are quite simple and you are, of course, entirely within your rights to refuse me my first request, but the second is not negotiable." She felt she may burst with the angry words that rose to the surface, but knew enough to bite her tongue. She thought she saw a ghost of a smile pass his lips as she reached this decision, almost as though he could read her mind.

She shuddered at the thought.

"I have filled the wardrobe in your bedroom with clothes I believe will suit you. You are quite a pretty girl, and should thus be dressed accordingly. I would appreciate it if you would dress each night for dinner. You may wear what you are wearing now during the day, as I'm sure it is much more comfortable than a gown. I will supply you with whatever you need, be it clothes, food, anything you desire, as long as you, in turn, allow me the small favors I ask of you."

Here he did not speak for quite some time, and she could feel his eyes burning into her.

"You are not to go through my personal things. I know that I can expect your eyes to wander if I leave my works laying around, so I will be putting them away careful from now on. Do not go searching for them."  
Her face burned as he spoke to her as if she were a naughty child. She clenched her hands together tightly in her lap, her knuckles white with the effort. She could feel him watching her but refused to look up, the color high in her cheeks.

"Christine." When he said her name it was almost as if he were singing it. It reached out to hook behind her navel and drag her into him. She could feel him taking control of her, as much as she strugged, as much as she pulled away, he was taking her over.

"Do you understand what I expect from you? I hardly think my requests are unreasonable. I do not want to put restraints on you, I would like you to make yourself at home."

"This is not my home," she said very quietly, slowly raising her eyes to his. "You can force me to stay here, you can steal me from the world and keep me buried here in this darkness with you, but this will never be my home." Her voice was shaking, and he watched her calmly, although his jaw was tightly set.

"You are nothing but a jailer. You are insane if you ever believe I will enjoy being trapped here like an animal in a cage. I am not a creature of hell-fire, I crave the sunlight, and while you may be content to rot here in this tomb, I am not. I will hold fast to the hope that Raoul will find me, and then--"

Her words were cut short as he leapt to his feet, upturning the table between them as he did so. She cowered back into the sofa, her chest heaving with labored breath, but did not let the look of disdain slide from her features. He studied her with something close to disgust in his eyes.

"Then you have chosen how your life here will be," he growled, his voice dangerously low. "Leave my sight now, Christine, or I cannot be responsible for my actions."

She let out a dry sob and hurried away from him, the image of his face contorted in barely-contained fury burning behind her eyelids. She shut the door that seperated them and sunk to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her face into them. Tears flowed hot and fast, scorching her cheeks as they spilled.

Even hours later as she lay awake in her bed, she could not be sure if she wept for her own misfortune, or for the hurt that had haunted his eyes at her vicious words.


	5. The Point of No Return

Erik stood in the center of the room, his breathing heavy for quite some time. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and he stared at the spot from which she had fled. At last, with a heavy sigh, he set about turning the table upright and gathering up the items that had been sent flying during his outburst.

Turning away from the violent scene that flashed before his eyes, he walked slowly to his working desk, bracing his hands on the surface and staring without seeing at the papers scattered across it. All of it meant Christine. All of it was for her, he thought grimly, his jaw clamping in a painful, convulsive movement.

His dark eyes flicked breifly to the flame that leapt upon the wick nearby. He felt a sudden, wild urge to knock it over and let everything burn. Standing quickly, he clasped his hands behind his back and paced the length of the room, frowning. The shadows on the walls were the curves of her waist, the gentle wilt of her wrist. Halting at the edge of the large lake, he shut his eyes tightly against the visions of her. He soon found the visions inside his head were much worse to behold, and he swore quietly as he stared down into the inky water.

He clutched madly at his hair, turning away as even in the still depths he found himself haunted with her image.

Stumbling to a side table near his chair, he pulled out the small drawer to retrieve his pipe and lit his oil lamp with a trembling match. Hungrily, he prepared the heady opium to be smoked, and then partook of the delicious, hazy cloud.

Leaning back in his chair, he let the beauty sweep over his brain, wrap around his mind and slip inside of him. A quiet peace stole over him, and he let his body float along the gently breathing sea. Here there was light that did not blind him, a soothing white halo that hung, wistful, around his view. Returning his instruments to the drawer, he stood.

He strode over to his organ, brushing his fingers along the keys lightly. There was something hard and burning in his chest. He could interpret it only as music, a delightfully furious score.

Seating his harried body before the keys, he begin to play a quiet, haunting melody. It wove around his fingers lazily, eliciting moans of mourning from the thick chords. He brought it up higher, raising his volume like a charmer before a snake, his hands as though caressing a lover. He shuddered as the song bled from him; it was as if his heart were weeping. He knew which key to press for every sound his bones needed to hear, as though he'd learned this tune by heart, greeting it like a friend from a faded childhood photograph; he had been hearing it for years and had never before found the means to give it outlet. Yet tonight it spilled forth from him, arching beneath his hands in the sheer ecstasy of creation. Higher and higher the melancholy sound soared, until it echoed in around him, crashing like waves as he pounded still the dismal chords.

_From the author: My own worries have been backed up by Madhatter45--this is the point where I began to rush this story, which is something I did not want to do. So from this point I'm changing my direction entirely. The problem, I believe, is rooted in my desire to get chapters out faster than they were ready to come, which also resulted in a couple of terribly short ones. I'll hopefully be able to knock it all out tonight, as I have all night to do it, and then maybe it will be going the way I saw it going from the start. Sincerest apologies._

It was a release he had been desperate for, the liberation of something that had been eating at his ribcage. His body shook as he drew the music from his bones. The pace became frantic, dragging him along to heights that drained the marrow from his sorrowful bones. He gave a cry as his fists crashed down onto the keys, bringing the composition to a jarring halt. His heart pounded hysterically in his chest. Turning away, he pressed a trembling hand to his breast and sat down heavily at his desk. His breath came ragged as he closed his eyes.

He was vaguely aware of her presence drawing closer. All was going black as he gripped the edge of the desk and whispered, "Christine."


End file.
